ANOTHER MOTHER'S DAY AT THE SHELTER

       This was my third Mother's Day at the shelter. Oddly, it was not observed with as much enthusiasm as in past years—perhaps because it's raining a good lick, and that always puts a pall on things.

      Joey called last night to tell me he couldn't remember what we had planned for lunch today… so I reminded him: hamburgers (he had those), baked beans (he'd just served those), cole slaw (he forgot to order that), and chips (oops). So we mulled it over and came up with pinto beans, hamburgers, and cole slaw (that I would bring)—period.

       The butterscotch pudding idea I had last week really was too much to consider—all things considered—so I took ice cream sandwiches.

       When I arrived, Joey's pot of pintos was bubbling away. He'd cooked them from scratch! It was his first time and mine too, except he'd gone in very early to get them started. He had added a chunk of spicy jerk turkey in lieu of ham. As time passed, he added water and said Miss Lillian puts flour in hers to make the juice thick. So we did that. Those beans were so fine.

       The burgers cooked in the oven, and I put five bags of angel hair slaw in a huge bowl, with celery seed, ranch dressing, and dill pickle juice. Then we set up a little assembly line at the counter, so we wouldn't have to trek all over the kitchen for the serving.

       Our young college-educated community service worker had come in yesterday and filled the fridge with sack lunches. I'm sure I'll miss his efforts… if he ever finishes his sentence. Joey thinks the fellow is really smart, but I reminded him that smart and stupid sometimes reside in the same body.

       The country oldies were especially fine today—Joey mentioned several that he'd like to have, and we'll be going online later to see the list of songs played, as he was racking his brain for titles. It's hard to focus on any one thing in the midst of so much organized chaos.

       Our pre-release group was just middlin' today—maybe 10. Paul Bunyan was in good humor, though for him that's never even close to giddy. I'm just happy to see a vague smile on his face. And the 300 pounder was in good spirits too. No, she did not want a sugar-free ice cream sandwich; she wanted the full sugar fix. She also wanted to suggest a menu to Joey: pinto beans, corn bread, and fried potatoes.

       "Who would cut up the potatoes?" Joey asked her.

       "Don't you have a slicer?" she pressed.

       "Yes, but somebody would have to use it," Joey informed her.

       I don't know where she thinks she's living, but it's not Waffle House.

       Our homeless residents numbered about 25 or 30. The 11-year-old boy was at church, so I gave his art kit and goodies to his father. The other two adolescents came to the counter and the boy SAID, "We came to get our treats." Boy, is he growing up! And, trust me, as I told him, "You gave grown at least 4 inches since you came here!" He didn't think so, but that's just because he's looking out and I'm looking in.

       Now about those four pre-schoolers. Last week I was told they were 2, 2, 4, and 6. I prepared my goody bag for those ages. This morning, Joey said the youngest was just a baby (8 months to 1 year). Wendy (our new gate keeper) said they were 1, 3, 3, 5... something like that. Neither of those lists was correct. The babies are 1, 2, 2, and 3. They have the same mother, and there is a caring man with them who I hope is their father. I quickly made a plate of chipped turkey and cheese for the infant, and later milk for all of them. The three older ones ate heartily from the foods we served everyone.

       When most of the residents had finished and left, the family of babies was still at table. I took a baggie with 6 crayons to them, along with 6 pages from a coloring book. Before any of those things had been passed to them from their father, one of the 2-year-olds looked up brightly and said, "Thank you!" And I gave each of them an apple fruit snack. Dad wanted one too, so I passed those out to everyone (Miss Lillian missed it!). The baby got a Beanie Baby turtle. She loved it.

       At one point, she cried briefly—babies do that. Otherwise, that whole family was quiet and almost too perfect. The twins and their 3-year-old brother sat in those adult-size chairs at that adult-size table and colored enthusiastically. "I like this blue one!" a 2-year-old told me, holding up his crayon. "And I like this yellow one!" his twin said. They KNOW their colors… their language skills and manners are out there!

       To my surprise, Dad was coloring too! Now I feel bad because I, too, love to color. It's a feel-good activity. I should have left them the whole box of crayons and the whole coloring book. Next week I'll do that. Dang.

       One of the little guys brought me his artwork—an offering. I gave it back and encouraged him to color more and bring it again next week. He seemed to like the idea.

       I had to tell the parents, "Somebody has put a lot of effort into these children, and it shows."

       "Thank you!" Dad said.

       "No, thank you," I returned.

       Really—if they stay the course, these parents will launch four productive, creative, sensitive people into the world. What more could one ask?

       So… there was news of Mr. Huggy today: he had another heart attack and is again in hospital. I thought medical science had a better handle on heart attacks than that… Send prayers.

       When I left, my back and legs were hurting, so I didn't linger, and Joey and I don't have a plan for next week. As I passed by the family room on my way out, I saw one of the little ones, running in a circle, "flying" his page from the coloring book. Happy Mother's Day.